6-pack abs

When I first went to college just out of high school, I wasn’t exactly what you would call smooth with the ladies. In equal parts, they scared the crap out of me and confused the shit out of me. Of course, that may have had something to do with the fact that I was what is referred to as a late bloomer. At eighteen I resembled a fifteen-year-old, and I was acutely aware of this, so much so that it had an effect on my self-esteem. Shit, think about it – my competition could shave! Their own face! I shaved once a week, and that was only in order to practice; it would have been much more efficient to just yank out the couple of chin hairs with a tweezers. True story: I was once carded when I bought a National Lampoon magazine, fucking carded! Can you believe that? Consequently, my reserve of witty pick-up lines was at a minimum, and we all know that you can’t just look at a woman and expect her to leave with you, despite what the erectile dysfunction commercials would have you think.

I went to a keg party with a couple of friends one Saturday night. I didn’t want to go, because I was low on cash at the time: 5 dollars to my name until financial aid checks came in the next day. Being responsible ain’t easy, you know, and I was determined to start off college as a responsible citizen.

Them: “Come on, it’s only 2 bucks, all the beer you can drink.”

Me: “Giddy-up!” Sweet, that leaves me with… 3 simoleans!

So off we go. It’s a typical college beer party: we paid our $2 “donation”, I got carded, and we got our plastic cups along with directions to the keg. An hour or so, and several beers, later, and I’m talking to an attractive brunette and we’re kind of hitting it off. It turns out that we have a friend in common, a guy that lives on the floor above me in the dorm. Perfect, right?

For anyone else, yes.

For me, not so much.

Thinking of a way to lure her back to my dorm room, yet mindful of my limited funds, my beer-soaked brain concocts the perfect plan.

So simple, really.

“You want to go back to my dorm and split a six-pack?”

She looks a little confused. I can’t imagine why.

“What?”

“You know, a six-pack of beer.” I think it’s working; now for the coup de grace, as the big game hunters call the killing shot.

“We can split it…and talk.”

“Umm, I have some friends here, I’d better not leave them.”

Shit! How quickly a plan can go south! Better try something fast; maybe sweeten the deal. Six-pack sounds so blue-collar, and we’re liberal arts majors.

“How about some wine?” Truffles? Foie gras? Oreos? What the fuck is it going to take to lure you back to my concrete block lair of love?

“Thanks, but I’m just going to hang out and enjoy the party.”

It’s funny when that light finally comes on in your head. You’ve been speeding down one trail of assumption, when you suddenly realize that you’ve just emerged from a dark tunnel and things are not what you thought. And you’re in quicksand. With a noose around your neck and your foot in your mouth.

We made a little small talk, but I knew that I had gotten my $2 worth out of that particular party. Oh yeah, and I was an idiot. As soon as I could, I bolted. I went home alone that night, mentally abusing myself for being such a dipshit, wondering how I could dare show my face in class, but after the weekend, the whole thing kind of faded, as these things tend to do. My friend from the floor upstairs caught up with me a couple of days later.

“Hey, I hear you met L.”

Oh shit, here it comes. “Yeah, she’s nice.” Play it cool, play it cool…

“She said you’re nice, too. Too bad she doesn’t know you like I know you.”

“Ha, fuck you too.” All right, let me have it already.

“Hey, after class this afternoon you want to grab something to eat on Water Street?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I gotta do a little banking first though.”

“No problem.”

“Alright, see you at 4.”

“Cool.” That’s it? She didn’t say anything? Wheeew! I thought that –

“Then maybe after we can go back to your place and split a six-pack, hehehehhehe!”

Damn.